slipping away from myself - t - darcy/bucky - chapter one
title: every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)
category: mcu; thor/captain america/avengers
genre: romance/drama/humor
ship: darcy/bucky
chapter rating: pg-13
overall rating: nc-17/explicit
word count: 3,487
summary: Steve just wanted his best friend back. But now that he's found him, there's a complication. Bucky agrees to come home under one condition; his wife comes too. In theory, that's easy; in reality, not so much. Darcy Barnes? Currently a brainwashed killing machine bent on returning her husband to HYDRA's clutches.
every time I'm slipping away from myself (you're the one that moves me like nobody else)
-novel-
I.
When Steve finally tracked him down, it was eight months of intense searching. It was a constant race to the next site he might've, possibly, been seen. Street cameras and satellite footage would put him in some foreign city, the information passed on from Tony or Natasha, so he and Sam would pack up and chase down the lead, only to come up empty-handed. There were a few times that he could almost taste victory; that he swore the dust was still settling from Bucky having left just minutes before they arrived. But it didn't matter how quickly they got the information or how swiftly they reacted to it, they always showed up too late.
He refused to lose hope. Even when Sam tried to be realistic with him, warning him that he had no idea who he would find if he did manage to catch up to Bucky, and that if Bucky was keeping ahead of him, maybe he wasn't ready to be found. Steve couldn't accept that. Bucky might be struggling to understand himself, but that was all the more reason for Steve to find him. The more Bucky remembered, the more confused he probably was. Even when he had nothing, he had Bucky; now he could return the favor.
The day he finally found him, he almost didn't believe his eyes. They'd tracked him down to a dingy motel room in a small town in Portugal. He and Sam snuck up on either side of the door, prepared for Bucky to run, to fight them off and try to escape. Even more prepared to open the door to the motel and find it empty, just like every one before it.
Steve dug out the key he'd gotten off the guy at the front desk and turned the lock on the door, as slowly and as quietly as he could. He swung it open, tense and prepared for disappointment. Instead of an empty room, however, he found a hunched figure at a table, his head bowed over papers and pictures, folders spread out all over, a bottle of vodka not far from reach. A ceiling fan did a pathetic job of cooling the room down, leaving it over warm, the air stagnant. Bucky seemed to have passed out where he sat, dressed in a white tank top and a ratty pair of jeans, his boots still on, as if he was prepared to flee at any given moment.
Steve frowned, glancing back at Sam, who shrugged at him, following him inside quietly and closing the door behind them.
As soon as the closing click of the door was heard, Bucky snapped awake, his eyes opening abruptly as he leapt from his chair, grabbing a gun from beside him and aiming it at them, his expression wild and fierce.
Steve's breath caught in his throat for a moment. He could remember, vividly, seeing him for the first time in Washington. Realizing that this was Bucky, his best friend, trying to kill him. He'd watched the footage of their fight, over and over, watched as the muzzle fell away and a face he knew as well as his own stared back at him. But even knowing that, some part of him still tried to convince him that it was in his head, that he shouldn't get his hopes up, that no, it couldn't possibly have been Bucky. This whole goose chase was pointless, because his best friend was long dead. But there he was, staring him in the eye again. He was exhausted, his cheeks sunken and dark bags under his eyes, his beard had grown out and he didn't look like he'd eaten or slept in too long, but it was him. Even if his eyes were wary and his body was poised with paranoid uncertainty.
He didn't shoot. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Or maybe Steve was just trying desperately to believe that this was still Bucky, underneath all of the HYDRA programming. He'd saved his life, hadn't he? Dragged him out of the drink and left him alive for the right people to find. He didn't have to do that, but he had. So some part of him had to remember. Had to know who he was, that he wasn't the enemy.
"Bucky-"
His mouth twisted up and his bionic hand flexed on the handle of the gun. "You shouldn't be here."
Steve shook his head, his hands held up in an effort to look less threatening. "We've been looking for you…" He stared at him searchingly. "We only want to help… I know things are probably… confusing. You must have a lot of questions. I can help you with that. I can answer some of them. Tell you what I know."
He gritted his teeth. "I remember… a lot of it. It comes in flashes sometimes. People, faces, things I did, people I killed…"
"You weren't in control. That wasn't you."
Bucky's lip curled. "I wasn't innocent before they got their hands on me. I killed before that, too. It was just wrapped up in stars and stripes. They sell the dream the same way. You'll save the world, change it, shape it for the better. So you do it, because you wanna believe you're a good person, but sometimes… you're just a trigger man, just an asset. Nothing more."
"That's not who you are. You're more than that," Steve insisted. "Please. Bucky, who you were, before this… I remember him. I remember everything about him, everything he said, and he's still you. That person is still in you."
"You don't know that." But his arm lowered, the gun held limply at his side. "You don't know the things I've done."
"I want to." Steve stared at him earnestly. "It's not going to change anything. You'll still be you."
He shook his head, licking his lips as they trembled. "Anybody ever tell you you're reckless?" He let out a scoffing, humorless laugh. "You don't invite the killer closer, Rogers. You put him down. That's smart."
"Yeah, well, I'm stupid for the right reasons."
Bucky stared at him a long moment. "So, what? You think you can just… re-jog all of this. Put me in a shrink's chair, get this mess figured out?"
"I don't know. Maybe. If you wanna see somebody, talk to somebody about it, fine, we can do that. If you want to do something else, we'll do that. But I want you to come home… I want to help you, whatever that takes." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Just… come home, Bucky."
Bucky didn't answer, didn't agree. He turned his gaze away for a moment, staring at Sam, standing off to the side, letting them talk it out. He observed him for a few long seconds and then shifted his feet, nodded his chin toward Sam and asked, "You've been chasing him around this whole time?"
"Chasing him, getting dragged by him, depends on the day," Sam answered.
Faintly, Bucky's lips turned up. "You get used to it."
Steve smiled, relieved, nostalgic.
Bucky turned back to him, his expression a little less stressed. "I'll come back." Before Steve could get too excited, he added, "But there's a catch."
Steve nodded. "Anything."
"You're not a good poker player, are you?" Sam piped up behind him.
Steve rolled his eyes, choosing not to answer him as he raised an eyebrow at Bucky imploringly.
"I need your help finding someone… I've been hitting HYDRA safe houses, but every time I get there, they're cleaned out."
"That's how we found you," Sam said, stepping forward. "We finally caught on. SHIELD, or, well, what's left of it, they rounded up a few leftover HYDRA agents; they've been gathering intel on what they could. One of the Avengers noticed the pattern. Something about being too close to the picture to see it properly."
"Barton noticed you'd been in three different cities where known HYDRA cells were… At first he thought you were trying to go back to them, but it didn't make sense. You were an asset; they would've picked you up themselves if they knew you were close."
Bucky nodded shortly. "They have someone. I need them back."
"Who?" Sam wondered.
Before Bucky could answer, there was a noise outside, drawing their attention.
Bucky went still, his head cocked, and his eyes narrowed. "Did you tell anyone you were here?" he asked, his voice cold.
Steve frowned. "Only my team. Mandatory check-ins before we follow a lead. But they wouldn't-"
Bucky turned, walking quickly to his bed and pulling out a go-bag from beneath. He grabbed out two handguns from inside and three magazines that he slid into the pockets of his jeans. "We need to go. Now. If they've followed you-"
Sam was at the window, carefully moving the curtains aside. "We've got two SUVs, at least six guys, armed."
Steve ground his teeth together. "Is there a window in the back?"
"In the bathroom." Bucky eyed him. "But it's small. Too small."
"Guess we're going out the front." Sam pulled his own gun and flipped the safety off. "If we go now, we might be able to catch them off guard."
"You got any extra guns in there?" Steve wondered, nodding his chin down to the go-bag curiously.
Bucky looked over at him a moment, his brow knotted, and then he tossed Steve not one, but two handguns, tucking the third into his own belt before he reached inside and came up with an assault rifle.
"There could be civilians out there," Steve reminded, lips pursed.
"My aim's just fine." He walked toward the door then, armed and ready, and Steve watched as the Winter Soldier persona seemed to ripple into place. Cold, controlled, and ready for war, the man before him hardly resembled the Bucky he knew like the back of his hand. This man was blood and broken bone, metal and ice. It was hard to imagine he ever laughed or smiled or teased like he had just minutes before. And it was a startling reality; Bucky wasn't gone, but the Winter Soldier wasn't either. They were two sides of the same coin.
As the door was yanked open, Bucky stepped outside and started firing. He didn't hesitate, simply stepping forward to meet whatever came for him. Steve and Sam followed him out, flanking him, guns raised. Bucky's gun did the most damage, taking out two men before they had a chance to react to his abrupt appearance. The remaining four were smart enough to take cover.
"We need to move to the car," Sam said, tracking a pair of moving feet under an SUV but unable to get a good shot.
Steve nodded at him agreeably and they moved to the right, with a pat to Bucky's shoulder to tell him to follow.
Bucky nodded in acknowledgement, but lingered to shoot out the tires on one SUV while still tracking his gun across the space, waiting for anyone to show their faces. He backed up as he followed them and Steve watched his back, hesitant to take his eyes off of him.
Two of their attackers gathered their courage and stood, firing on them while still keeping mostly covered by the back end of a beat up Ford Contour. While Bucky focused his gun spray on them, a third stood and took aim. Steve fired before he could, catching him in the shoulder. He stumbled back and slumped down, out of sight.
The squealing tires of a car could be heard before Sam pulled up close to them. "Let's go. Come on."
Grabbing Bucky by the shoulder, Steve yanked him back and shoved him into the back seat of the car before climbing into the front passenger seat. Sam's foot pressed down on the accelerator and they jolted forward, peeling out of the motel parking lot and pulling onto the road. Still tense, Steve kept his eyes on the mirror, waiting to see the remaining SUV follow behind them. But the motel only grew smaller in the distance and nobody seemed to be following.
"Did you shoot the tires out on the other SUV?" Steve wondered, turning his head back to eye Bucky.
He shook his head, scowling out the window. "Just the one."
"And the two guys behind the car? You get either of 'em?" Sam asked, glancing at him through the mirror.
"Might've winged one, but he won't stay down for long. They have orders. They'll keep coming, whatever it takes." He leaned back in his seat, his gun over his lap. "You shouldn't have come. I was going to raid the warehouse tomorrow."
"So let's say you did. Let's say you went there, got inside, and they didn't empty it out…" Steve stared at him searchingly. "What then? You kill all of them? Is that what this is about? Revenge?"
Bucky raised his eyes to meet his, his expression somewhere between curious and derisive. "What if I did? What if I killed every one of them? Slit their throats, put a bullet between their eyes. You don't think they deserve it?"
"HYDRA stands for everything I hate. The things they've done, the things they want to do… I would hand you the match to burn them to the ground. But we need to be smart about this. This isn't a one-man mission. You said you wanted help finding someone. I'll help you find them. I'll help you take HYDRA down, one head at a time, but we need a plan." He frowned, looking him over. "You don't look like you've slept or eaten in days."
Bucky dropped his gaze then. "Weeks," he muttered. "I pass out sometimes. It's enough."
Steve swallowed as concern and regret burned his throat, his chest tightening. "You gotta take care of yourself first, Buck. Taking on HYDRA, it's going to happen, but you need to be at your best before you go head to head with them… And you deserve a break. A real one. Some time to… adjust."
"I don't need to take them all on. Not yet." He shook his head, wincing painfully as he turned his eyes away. "I just need one person. That's it."
"Uh, guys…" Sam said.
"Who?" Steve shook his head. "Who are you trying to find?"
"Steve."
Steve turned his head, irritated, only to realize Sam was staring ahead, his brows furrowed.
"Any ideas why that truck's coming at us backwards? Because my money's on 'incoming enemy.'"
Steve frowned, turning forward in his seat and stared at the truck coming center down the road. Before he could offer an idea, the truck came to a stop. It was far enough ahead there was plenty of space between them, which only caused more confusion.
Sam slowed down to a stop, reaching for the gear shift, but just as he did, he looked up, a heavy sigh leaving him. "Look who finally caught up."
Steve looked back to see the remaining SUV approach from behind; his eyes darted between the two trucks and then to his left at an open field. "We either try to drive past them, get out and fight, or make a run for it," he said.
The back door opened abruptly and Bucky climbed out, gun in hand.
"Guess that answers that," Sam muttered before shoving his own car door open. "This was a rental, remember? Under my name."
Steve rolled his eyes at him.
Sam shoved out of the car, looking back at the SUV that had also stopped an oddly far distance back. He frowned, turning to Steve. "That suspicious to you, too?"
Steve's lips thinned out. "Yeah, it is."
A man in combat gear suddenly appeared outside of the long one-ton truck ahead, unarmed. He didn't pause before moving to the back and gripping a large, steel handle, pulling it to one side until it unlocked, releasing the catch on the door. He gripped it by the bottom and gave it an upward shove before walking to side and reaching for a chain, manually drawing the door up and out of the way. Steve squinted, but all he could see was empty, dark space inside. And then a boot appeared and a figure stepped out, dressed much like Bucky had in Washington; black fitted cargo pants and leather, padded vest in place, straps, pockets and a belt holding various weapons. But there was no muzzle on this one, no familiar face staring back at him either.
She was young. Mid-twenties, he estimated. Dark hair tied back in a French braid, a few loose curls draped down her face. She stepped off the back of the truck and landed with her feet braced. Her eyes took them in, quick and calculating, assessing them and their strengths and weaknesses in what appeared to be little more than a glance.
The man who released her took one step forward, but even from where he was standing Steve could see the man's hands shaking.
"Go. Attack," the man ordered, trying, and failing to sound commanding.
Her eyes darted to the man, pinning him with a frigid stare. A long, tense moment passed. When she released her gaze from him, he seemed to breathe with relief. Reaching behind her, she slowly drew a silver axe from her back, swinging it around in her grip with expert ease.
"Is that an axe?" Sam asked, his voice full of disbelief. "She's got an axe!?"
"What's that old saying?" Steve said. "Never bring an axe to a gun fight…"
"It's never bring a knife to a gunfight. That's a lot bigger than a knife!"
Steve didn't reply; instead, he watched her fingers for a moment, the grip of her axe dancing over them as it twisted and turned in a graceful sweep. His shoulders tensed, waiting for her to attack. But she pivoted to the left, hand gripping the handle tightly, and the axe sliced through the air in an arc, sinking into the chest of the man who'd released her. With a shocked, wet gasp, he choked, leaning forward, staring down at his chest. She didn't even look at him, pulling her axe free of him with a jerk.
"What are the odds that was her defecting to our side?" Sam wondered hopefully.
Twisting the axe around in her hands, she raised it up and leaned it against her shoulder, blood dripping down her back. Cocking her head, she stared at them, eyes narrowed.
"Small," Steve answered him, raising his gun and aiming for her, frowning when she didn't so much as flinch. In fact, she took a step forward, a dark smile turning up her lips, ready to step headfirst into enemy fire.
He ground his teeth and flipped the safety off, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a hand landed on top of his gun, lowering it abruptly.
"Don't," Bucky ordered, facing forward, his skin even paler than before, his eyes wide. "I didn't think they'd bring her…" His chest heaved as he stared, his brow furrowed, mouth set grimly as his eyes darted over her searchingly. "They must've triggered her. She doesn't know what she's doing. She's not like this. Not usually." He swallowed tightly, his face falling.
"Are we going to do something about this?" Sam asked, sounding more than a little anxious.
Steve looked forward. She was walking forward now, her axe lowered to the ground, dragging on the cement, sending up sparks.
"How good is she?" Steve asked, turning to Bucky.
He turned to face him, pausing, hesitant, and then his jaw ticked as he looked forward once more. "I trained her myself." He took a deep breath, lifting his chin. "She won't show you any mercy."
Sam raised his own gun. "I'm not getting axed. I don't care who she is."
Bucky's face transformed immediately, turning savagely protective. It was an expression Steve remembered from their childhood, only then it was Bucky standing up for him.
When Bucky raised his gun, it was pointed at Sam. "Put it down, or I'll kill you," he snarled.
Sam glanced at him, then to Steve, and back to the woman, his gun still raised and his expression set and stubborn.
Steve stared at Bucky's profile, his mind running in overdrive. "She was who you were looking for," he said, his face falling as understanding flooded through him. "You were raiding those safe houses to find her."
Bucky didn't look at him, but he did nod, brief as it was.
Steve turned, looking at the woman. Her features were more discernible now; blue eyes, full lips, beautiful, if it wasn't for the cold, fierce expression she wore. And lethal. Terrifyingly lethal.
"Who is she?" he asked. He stared into her icy eyes and saw nothing but death.
"Darcy." Bucky gritted his teeth, his voice thick as he said, "My wife."
[Next: Chapter Two.]
author's note: for anybody reading my prompt fills on Tumblr or on AO3, this was originally just supposed to be a one-off, but I liked it and I had a general idea of what I wanted to do with it in a fleshed out full story. I got a lot of encouragement to continue it, so now it's going to be a longer story. I already have the next two chapters finished and the whole of it planned out. so I hope you liked it so far and are looking forward to reading more. :)
Thanks so much reading! Please leave a review; they're my lifeblood!
- Lee | Fina